


Behind Closed Doors

by amyfortuna



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Father/Son Incest, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV First Person, Parent/Child Incest, Present Tense, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Thranduil and Legolas have been apart for too long.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evandar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/gifts).



Legolas comes home from woodland patrols with the first swirl of the winter snows. Winter is the safe time - spiders, coldblooded, curl up and sleep in their vile nests; orcs, though they prefer darkness, stay closer to their dank caves and ruins - and so, less patrols are needed. My son will only leave my side a few times during all the months of winter. 

I rise to meet him, as a father should who greets a well-loved son who he has not seen for nearly two months, and then only briefly. Too briefly. For a moment I cannot help but remember that single night, our hands on each other, desperate to touch, our mouths pressing together, desperate to taste, our bodies entwined, desperate to embrace, before he had to leave again. 

"Welcome home, son," I say to his terse, tense, "Father," and I embrace him in front of the gathered court, for not nearly as long or as close as I would like to. I know what my people whisper about me - they say that I am cold to all, even my only son, and cannot bear to show affection. 

Well, they will not get to see me behind closed doors, later tonight. 

Legolas, after that initial moment of stiff tension, melts a little in my arms, and by the time I release him, is smiling cheerily, beginning to talk about everything he's seen in the forest, all at once. I know I will get written reports from him and each guard who patrolled with him, so I let him babble on happily for a while, recounting the size of the spiders he killed, the songs they sang around the watchfires, and the health of various trees in the forest, all jumbled up together. It's a pleasure to just be in his presence and listening to his voice, and I can hardly bear to send him out of my throne room, were it not for the evening's delights that await us. 

The rest of the afternoon and early evening passes by in a blur of pedestrian affairs. The First Feast of Winter will be held in a few days from now; preparations are underway and it seems that all require my approval. I scan contract after contract of agreements with the Men of Lake-town, formally receive the ambassadors from Dorwinion, and hear reports on how well the hunting is going. 

At last the day is done, and I may retire to my rooms for the evening. There is no formal dinner this evening, as is customary for a few days before a large feast, so my servants already know that I will dine in my rooms. Legolas joins me there. 

We talk of little things over dinner - the pleasantness of the food and the wine, Legolas' happiness to be home, his plans for the next few days, while the servants step around us, placing and removing plates, filling wine glasses. We are ever-conscious of their presence, and I cannot unbend as I so wish to. 

As soon as the last servant shuts the door behind himself, I turn where I stand and make my way over to where Legolas sits, half-sprawled in his chair and smiling. My heart melts to see him, alone with me at last, and I throw myself to my knees, embracing him soundly, inhaling the warm scent of his body mingled with the bath oils he'd used earlier. 

"Finally," I breathe. 

He laughs just a little, and tips my head up. "Yes," he says, and at last he kisses me.

* * *

We know this is forbidden, who we are to each other, what we do in the shadows of our beds, late at night when all are sleeping. We are father and son; the thought that we might be lovers is so unthinkable that people will come up with any explanation rather than the obvious one. 

We don't flaunt it. No one thinks anything of it if from time to time we spend all night in my rooms and Legolas emerges, disheveled and rumpled, in the morning. They assume an all-night conversation, or an early morning meeting. There is no appearance of impropriety if I decide to go hunting, take Legolas as my bodyguard and companion, and linger in a remote hunting lodge for a few days. We avoid showing each other too much affection in public, which means that gossips prattle about our relationship being rather cool, but who cares for gossips? 

But in private, we revel. We feast on each other. Legolas' dazzling smile outrivals the Sun herself for very brightness, and I pursue him with all the unrestrained joy that the Moon pursues the Sun. 

So it is tonight. Our first kiss is followed by a few more, hungry and desperate. Kneeling between his legs, I feel him grow hard against me all too soon. In truth, I'm not far behind him, torn to rags from wanting him all the days and nights that he's been gone. 

We began this _addition_ to the usual relationship of father and son near fifty years ago, though we both knew of it and of each other's desires long before that. I could, if I was so minded, talk about one of us surrendering at last to the other, or of our wills being overcome with need and passion, but I shall not do so. We are Elves, not beasts to be so overruled, and both of us well able to discern for ourselves what we needed and what we wanted, and all the risks involved. 

We chose; that is the truth of the matter, and we chose each other. I am not such a fool to think that he will never love another, and he is not such a one to think that I have not and will not. It was not a choice made once but rather a choice we continue to make: each year, each day, each kiss. 

Each tender yearning kiss from his mouth over mine drives my need higher. On my throne I am his king, by day I am his father, but here alone I yield to his will, and bring us both great pleasure thereby. It is a relief to lay down my burdens for a while, a joy to see my son hold up his head before me and command me. 

He does so now. Drawing back a little from our kiss, he breathes against my lips, "Take me in your mouth." I smile, pressing my lips to his once more, swiftly, before I hasten to obey. 

He wears butter-soft doeskin leggings, and helps me push them down over his hips and off his legs so that I can reach his cock. Adjusting his position in the chair, he also takes a moment to remove the soft white cotton tunic he wears, baring his chest to me. Though he is now naked above me, and I am fully dressed still, he has the power here, and reminds me of it by sliding a hand into my loosened hair, gripping firmly. Slowly, he presses his cock into my mouth and I open for him. 

The faintly salty taste of him, like the Sea itself, intoxicates my senses as it always does, and I moan around him, pressing my tongue against the small slit at the head of his erection in an effort to get more of his taste. His breath, above me, becomes shaky as I swipe my tongue over the spot just below the head of his cock that he finds so sensitive. His grip on my hair tightens, and he continues to press into me, sliding along my tongue down into my throat. 

It has been a while since we've done this, and I have fallen out of practice. I close my eyes and concentrating on opening up for him, taking small breaths through my nose, consciously willing my throat to relax. Everything else falls away from me, and I am only his, dedicated solely to bringing him pleasure. I trust him like I would no one else. His hand in my hair, his cock in my mouth, are all I ever want at times like this. 

He slides back and forth a few times, gently. He will never press further than I can bear, never go harder than what I can take. We have had long years to refine our passions; we've purified them like gold; we've forged them out between us in the safety of our minds. I can feel him touching my mind softly, not intrusive, simply present in my mind as he is within my body. 

Legolas begins to thrust in earnest now, and I let him take me as he will, though I move my tongue against him, flicking at the head of his cock from time to time. His breathing is harsh and fast, and I know this won't take long, not this first time. Buried deep in my throat, the head of his cock swells suddenly, cutting off my breath, and I feel his ecstasy as if it were my own, as long pulses of heat spurt from him and down my throat. I am lightheaded and utterly delighted by the time he draws back, still coming, falling limply against the back of the chair. We both pant helplessly, my head between his thighs, seed trailing from my mouth and down my chin and neck. Some of it is in my hair. 

After a moment, breath recovered, he laughs softly, just a little. He always laughs when we make love, pure joy and happiness embedded in that sound, and my heart leaps upward to hear it. I raise my head, smiling, and he presses his fingers to my lips, taking the kiss I lay on them and bringing it to his own mouth. 

My need is only partly sated by his satisfaction. Though his pleasure has taken the edge off mine, I am still hard and wanting. But I know Legolas well enough to know that we are far from finished with the evening, and he will see to my pleasure soon enough. All I have to do is be patient. 

After a few moments, he stirs, petting my head. "Get undressed," he says, and I gladly move to obey.

* * *

He falls asleep in a tangle of muddled sheets, curled up against my side, his breathing regular and soothing. We've traded pleasure back and forth between us several times this evening. The sheets are stained with the evidence of it; the smell of it lingers in the air. We'll rise together before the servants are due, make love once more perhaps before he has to go, then take certain precautionary measures to prevent any knowledge of what we've done this night coming to to the attention of anyone else. There are certain words to speak, certain incenses to burn. Elves are by nature private about our liaisons, so the use of such incenses will not be thought odd. 

Not for the first time, my heart wrenches as I wonder how long this can last. Sooner or later, the Sea will call one of us - it is too much to hope for that it is in the same moment, or never at all. We make our choices day by day, kiss by kiss, and so far we have always chosen each other. 

The day may come when he will choose the Sea instead, and I'll be left on this hither shore alone. 

I brush a hand down his back, and press a kiss to his forehead. May that day come ages from now, if it must be, and let us both linger in this twilit love for long years yet.


End file.
